


kalte sterne

by mothmaiden



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, Face Slapping, Frottage, Intimacy, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, slight dubcon, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmaiden/pseuds/mothmaiden
Summary: He's impossible to resist.





	kalte sterne

**Author's Note:**

> I know there is dubcon mentioned in the tags - so I will give a brief explanation here. While Helge is actively consenting to everything in this fic, you can't have Helge and Noah's relationship without acknowledging the extreme differences in power, not to mention the grooming he seems to have done to Helge. There's a portion of this fic where Helge ruminates on how he couldn't refuse Noah, even if he wanted to. So just a heads-up.

Everything is according to plan. Not one piece of what they are doing, or what they have done, happened by mistake. It took a long time for Helge to realize that God didn’t exist, that there was no cosmic design. It comforted him, knowing that while God might have nothing to do with it, Noah did. He trusted completely and implicitly the system. How could he not? How could he not, knowing Noah, who had shown him so many different parts of the world, who gave him something – or, more accurately, _someone –_ to believe in? And how ashamed he is now, to think back on that day, when he had questioned not only Noah’s actions, but his very integrity. It was yet another sign of his own stupidity, his weakness, the worthlessness inherent in him that he knew to be there.  
  
Knowing all this, believing in it all, doesn’t explain what happened the last time he and Noah were together. Of course, it could have been another part of Noah’s plan, but something in his face, a look that said he was as surprised by his own actions as Helge was, shot down that line of thinking. A strange quality had come into his friend’s face, an expression that he had never seen before. Friend. A word that, in Helge’s eyes, did not come near to touching what was between him and Noah.  
  
It had started out like any other night. They’d been working together, toiling away, sweating. The temperatures had dropped nearly to freezing, but down there they were almost intolerably hot. Helge had rolled up his sleeves, the only part of his body he was comfortable showing, for he did not think that there was anything particularly unique or distasteful about them. He liked these nights. It was, as always, just the two of them, a fact Helge was eternally grateful for. He hated the thought of sharing Noah with anyone, as selfish as that was, and foolish. After all, Noah was a man of the world, of the people. No one could possess him, let alone someone like Helge, a coward and a fool. But Noah never talked about anyone, or at least no one he was close to, and it was something Helge secretly prided himself on. As if Noah was just as lonely as he himself was.  
  
Noah had already shucked his coat. But Helge had frozen, watching in both horror and fascination as Noah began to pull his suspenders down off of his shoulders, the muscles visible even beneath the fabric of his dark shirt. Slowly he began unbuttoning his shirt, unaware of Helge, staring, gawking. He’d slipped it off so casually. A man that was comfortable in his own skin. It was the first time that Helge saw him in a state of half-undress, and it shocked him, so badly that he had nearly forgotten to breathe. It had little to do with the tattoos, magnificent though they were. They paled in comparison to his body itself. He could never have imagined or pictured that Noah would have looked like _this _beneath his clothes.  
  
He had seen his arms, of course. Corded with muscle, roped through with veins and tendons. Powerful. He turned, seeming to sense that Helge had stopped, or that he was being watched. His fair brow furrowed. “Helge,” he said, in a tone that implied disappointment. Flushing, Helge turned his back on Noah, returning to what he had been doing, his hands unsure, his mind reeling. He felt as if he would faint. It was not the sin of envy he felt, like other men would have experienced at the sight. It was a much deeper, darker sin. Something disgusting. One that he had been taught from his very early childhood to be the worst of the worst.  
  
And he wasn’t even sure that men felt these things for other men. It was the ‘80s; things were progressing, people progressive-minded. But Helge was sheltered from it all, instinctively. He no longer had his mother to shelter him, so he did it himself. Protecting himself from the world, wrapped within his own little shell.

He was terrified that Noah would be able to read it in his face. He had the awe-inspiring trait of seeming to know just what Helge was thinking, how long he’d been thinking it, why and when and everything else. It was like being put beneath a glass, an insect studied by a curious little boy. Usually it calmed him, made him feel almost understood. But tonight he prayed, to whoever or whatever was out there, that Noah would not be able to determine what was going through his head.

Nothing happened until they were done. Until Noah was going to set off, leave him behind.

He’d still been without his shirt. He had been watching Helge, his eyes curious. And without saying anything he had come up to Helge, taken his face in the large, sweating palms of his hands, staring into him until he felt forced to look away. It embarrassed him intensely, to have the scarred side of his face being touched, especially by Noah. Noah, who was so beautiful. Flawless.  
  
Noah ran his thumb over Helge’s scarred ear. He flinched at the touch, more from instinct than from anything else, but Noah’s grip was too strong for him to escape. “Don’t be ashamed.” Noah said it simply, matter-of-fact. He leaned forward, brushing his closed lips against Helge’s, a dry, chaste kiss. Brotherly, the kind a priest would give to his parishioner. It was Helge who had ruined it. He had put his hands on Noah’s shoulders, the warm skin, and made a soft noise low in the back of his throat. In spite of his shame he wished it would last, that he would do it again. For a moment Noah lingered there, their lips not quite touching, his eyes searching Helge’s face. Curious.  
  
And then, curtly, he had dropped his hands, pulled away. They spoke little after that, Helge’s cheeks burning red with a mortification so overwhelming he thought it would kill him. Once Noah had left, he’d gone into the cabin and cried.

—

This time Helge had kept his eyes off of Noah. Or, at least, tried to. It had been more difficult than he’d anticipated, for when he would turn he would catch the sight of his muscles flexing in his back, the tattoo dancing strangely in the half-light. It was like losing your mind. Helge wasn’t so sure that, in fact, he wasn’t losing his.

They were in the cabin now. Noah had asked to come in, politely, as if he couldn’t have simply walked up to the door and entered with Helge making no protest. In spite of the frigid weather, he had not put his shirt back on. Once they were inside, he inspected all of Helge’s little things, that suddenly seemed embarrassing, childish. He picked up the pine cones and acorns, his expression carefully neutral. Helge hoped that the heat inside the cabin would excuse his flushed face, that Noah would not read too much into it. He’d been half-convinced that Noah would not even come back, after last time. That he would find someone else. Someone better than Helge, stronger, smarter, handsomer.

Noah sat in the cozy little armchair that Helge had managed to procure. He liked to sit in and look out of the windows, watching the rain, listening to its soft patter overhead. Sometimes he even read, though it was rarer these days, his mind too occupied to focus on what was happening in his book. He thought incessantly and constantly of Noah, of the surprising softness of his mouth. There had been roughness, too, the stubble on his jaw. A trait particular to a man. Helge had kissed two women in the entirety of his life. They had been much like his kiss with Noah, passionless, friendly. Yet the way he felt about Noah’s was entirely different. It was as if someone had sent an electric shock through his body. With women, he had felt only scared, awkward, bizarrely indifferent.  
  
He thought of it now. Keeping his back to Noah, he stared out of the window, though there was nothing but darkness, stretching as far as the eye could see. “Helge.” His tone was very calm, authoritative. Never one to disobey, Helge turned to him. A trail of sweat was running down the side of Noah’s neck, onto his collarbones. Further down. He could never feel detached, looking at that body, but distantly he thought, how impeccable he looks. A statue.  
  
“Come here.” There was no malice in his voice, but some sort of intuitive terror was pulsating through Helge’s heart. He came to stand before Noah, keeping just enough distance between them, afraid even for their knees to touch. Crooking a long finger, Noah beckoned him closer. Closer. Until finally their legs were touching.  
  
Leaning up slightly, Noah grabbed him by his arms, pulling him easily onto his lap. Shocked into speechlessness, Helge shifted awkwardly, making an effort to stand up. He couldn’t take this – this being close to him. Not in this way. He was searingly hot against Helge’s chest, even through the thick material of his sweater and the shirt underneath that, his hands holding him in a crushing grip. Snaking one arm around Helge’s waist, he pulled him in closer, so that they were chest-to-chest. He felt strange, his knees on either side of Noah’s hips, nowhere else for them to go.  
  
A soft gasp escaped Helge’s lips. “Are you scared, Helge?” The corners of Noah’s mouth twitched, as if he were making an effort to hide a smile. He made circular motions on Helge’s back, his touch light, just the fingertips.  
  
“No,” Helge stuttered. “Not of you.”  
  
“Of something else, then.” A statement, not a question. Helge had been supporting himself slightly, keenly aware of the fact that had he lowered an inch, _that _place between their legs would be touching. Noah moved his hips, pulling Helge down onto him, so they were pressed tightly together. Dizzily Helge watched Noah’s lips part, his head tilt back a fraction. “You know, Helge,” he said, his voice alluringly husky, “sometimes I think you want me to hurt you. To punish you.” He slipped his hand under Helge’s sweater, pressing the palm of his hand against the thin shirt underneath. It stuck to his skin, he was sweating so badly.  
  
Noah slapped him. It was not hard, or particularly forceful. Just enough to make Helge’s skin tingle, sting. He’d done it on the scarred side of his face, that part he hated, where the sensation was slightly dulled from all the excessive, healed-over tissue. Grabbing one of Helge’s hands, Noah brought it up to his lips, using them to touch his own mouth. He parted them, and Helge nearly flinched completely out of his grip when he made contact with the wet inner part of Noah’s bottom lip.  
  
Still he reeled from the slap. It was almost too much all at once, the soft touching they were doing now, the pain he’d just inflicted on him. The mingling of it, the way one sensation melded into another. Helge was panting now, though not from the warmth of the room. Noah took Helge’s forefinger into his mouth, his tongue running across the tip, sucking until he had reached the knuckle. Helge moaned. None of the confusion he’d experienced in the past could hold a candle to this. He had no idea why it felt good, so good, to have Noah licking and sucking his fingers. Some sick inner part of him relished it. He almost cried out from the loss when Noah let him go with a pop.  
  
“I see the way you look at me.” Noah spoke softly, caressingly. His greenish-blue eyes, catlike, blinked slowly. The pupils were large, leaving only a thin ring of color surrounding them. “You’ve been wanting this.”  
  
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it now. Even if Helge wasn’t exactly sure what _this _was.  
  
“Good boy,” Noah said, laughingly. His teeth were white, unbelievably even. Helge blushed, feeling mocked, yet it only served to intensify the repulsive lust squirming in his abdomen. Noah placed his hand on the back of Helge’s neck, damp with perspiration, and brought their mouths together, more harshly than last time. This kiss was so far removed from the last one that Helge could not even put them in the same category. It was the first time he’d ever been kissed in such a way. Noah forced Helge’s lips open with his tongue, seating it inside him, slick and wet and hot against Helge’s own.

They were panting into each other’s mouths, kissing feverishly, Noah showing him so many things at once that his heart felt as if it would burst. He kissed Helge’s upper lip, slowly, sensually, until Helge’s arousal became so consuming that he had him whimpering. It seemed to go on forever. Helge barely dared to breath, he was so afraid that Noah would pull away. And, eventually, he did. Helge looked away, ashamed. “This is wrong,” Helge said, tears forming at the backs of his eyes.  
  
Noah scoffed. “And who gets to decide that, Helge? You?”  
  
Viciously he captured Helge’s jaw, kissing him again, this time focusing on his bottom lip. He sucked on it, and in a clumsy mirror of what Noah had done to him, Helge ran his tongue over Noah’s sweat-salty upper lip. Helge knew that his own mouth was inexperienced, awkward. Noah moaned into his mouth, and it was like a taste of power. He needed desperately to do it again, to make Noah make that _noise_, that inflamed his own passions so thoroughly. Helge licked him again, this time more forcefully, before putting his own tongue into Noah’s mouth. He could feel just how hard Noah was against him, hot. The fact that he could inspire arousal in anyone at all stupefied him. But in Noah, of all people? Intoxicated, Helge let Noah push his sweater and shirt up, until it was beneath his armpits.  
  
Noah held him by the back of his shirt, leaning him back slightly, putting his mouth on Helge’s chest. The air was hot on his skin, and it took only a minute for him to get over his shyness at Noah seeing his pale, thin body. He had nothing to compare to Noah, nothing aside from the natural muscle of a man. The flat of his tongue ran along Helge’s nipple, and he gasped, his fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of Noah’s neck. He’d never touched his own nipples before, at least not in this way. They hardened under Noah’s touch, sensitive, almost unbearably. He wondered, vaguely, drowsily, if Noah was showing him what he would like.  
  
Unthinkingly, he brought his hand between his legs, unintentionally brushing not only against his own cock but against Noah’s, too. He nearly came, feeling Noah licking his nipples and his chest, his own hand squeezing himself through his trousers. When Noah stopped, grabbed Helge’s hand and bent it back at the wrist, it was like having whiplash.  
  
“Good boys don’t touch themselves,” Noah murmured, his grasp brutal. Something flashed in his eyes. “Get up.”  
  
It felt so good like this. Helge didn’t want to. But he knew that there was no other option. He stood, and after a few moments passed, Noah did, too. He went to put his hand over his erection, humiliated by how obvious it was through his trousers, but stopped himself short. He didn’t want Noah thinking that he was trying to touch himself again. Noah put his hands on his hips, watching, his eyes raking slowly over Helge’s body, coming to rest between his thighs. Licking his lips, he took a step forward, a predator sizing up its prey.  
  
In some way Helge was not surprised when Noah shoved him back, down onto the floor. He went almost willingly, Noah following, and for a second they grabbed at each other, Helge somehow managing to successfully get him onto his back. It was another feeling like power, like something close to power. He had never known it could be so heady. He’d never done drugs before, but he imagined that was what it felt like, a shot of heroin straight into his bloodstream.  
  
Noah was, only naturally, much stronger than him. But still for a few moments he allowed Helge this one win, this one victory. Noah panted beneath him, letting Helge get his knees onto his shoulders, the only real way he could pin him down. Helge was dizzy, faint. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, the both of them sticky with sweat.  
  
The opportunity was right before him. He could have done anything to Noah, anything at all, in this brief exchange of domination. It was not a role that suited Helge, but he embraced it, let himself wear it for just this one time. Awkwardly, he pressed his lips to Noah’s, slicking his tongue inside of his mouth, wishing that their hips were together again. He couldn’t stay like this for long; he was too desperate for Noah’s touch, for the experience and wisdom behind it, the quiet reassurance that he knew what he was doing. They kissed like that for what felt like an age, licking and biting each other, until finally Helge gave it up.  
  
He moved off of Noah’s shoulders. So quickly that his head spun Noah moved him onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head, only having to use one of his big hands. His fingers encircled Helge’s wrists, shackling him. Enslaving him. The thought sent a wave of heat rushing inside of him. He would stay here forever, Noah’s captive, if he would keep touching him like this. He wanted to ask him if this was the first time he’d been with a man, if it was as strange and erotic as it was for Helge. But sheepishness overcame him, and the taste of Noah’s mouth was too appetizing for him to get a chance to say anything at all.  
  
There was a moment – just a moment, small and insignificant – where being pinned like this made him think of that day. Of his face, of his smashed skull, his irreparably damaged ear.  
  
The smell of him was delicious. Better than anything else, anything that Helge could imagine. Musky, raw with sweat, woodsy without the artifice of cologne. In between their frantic kisses, Noah pulled his sweater and shirt off over his head, growling in the back of his throat, a sound that went straight to Helge’s swimming head. Their nipples brushed together, causing Helge to bite out a moan. Shyly, putting his hand to Noah’s lips, Helge whispered, “I want to kiss your neck.”  
  
Noah groaned. “Yes,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose to Helge’s. In control, but with a hint of desperation in his voice that made Helge want to do dirty, terrible things to him. Willingly, Noah exposed his throat to Helge, moaning so softly at the touch of his lips that for a split-second Helge thought he was hallucinating. His skin was warm, hot, and Helge drew his tongue over one of the large tendons in Noah’s neck.  
  
“Noah.” He said it tremulously, his breath blowing cool across the surface of Noah’s wet skin. Shivering, Noah looked down at him, ran his hand over his hair. “I want to use my teeth on you.” The mere shock of saying it mortified him beyond belief. Never in a million years did he think he would have the bravery to say such a thing, even to say that he wanted something. In response, Noah kissed him again, and this time it was toothed. He sucked on Helge’s bottom lip, as he had before, perhaps in an effort to coax him into what was coming next. He replaced his own lips with his teeth, biting, so hard that it caused Helge to cry out with pain, into Noah’s open mouth. The blood was metallic, coppery, on his teeth and tongue.

Encouraged, Helge skimmed his teeth over the sensitive skin just beneath Noah’s earlobe. He kissed and sucked and bit until Noah’s skin was marked with the half-crescents of his teeth, his skin mottled purplish-red. And as he did it Noah rocked his hips against Helge’s, creating a delicious, mounting tension, like it was when he touched himself, but ten times as intense. Breaking apart, Helge stared up into Noah’s eyes, the heavy lids, the sweat dripping down his temples. He had never been quite so beautiful.  
  
“Helge,” Noah whispered, like they were sharing some secret. And perhaps they were. He held Helge’s jaw in one hand, squeezing, just enough that it caused a tremor of pain to pulse through his face. “Open your mouth.”  
  
It was not in his nature to ask why. And what would he have said, anyways – no? As if one could say no to Noah. As if he would ever have wanted to. Even if he had, even if that day did come, he would be unable to. It was like denying God himself. So he parted his lips, widening his mouth, guided by Noah’s hand. He hovered over Helge, assessing, ridiculously composed despite the circumstances. A second before it happened Helge knew what was coming. He heard Noah working it up, saw the gleam of flickering cruelty in those glass eyes.  
  
He spit into Helge’s mouth. It was repulsive and demeaning and, God, it aroused him. That slithering snake of lust seemed to love this, to want it and crave it. Without having to think, without being angry, Helge swallowed. So clearly, so blatantly, he could see how much Noah liked it. He made involuntary little motions with his hips, putting his thigh between Helge’s legs, so that they could rub against one another.  
  
“How did I get so lucky?” Noah said, biting his own reddened bottom lip. Helge wanted that swollen mouth _on _him. But how, he asked himself, how do you want it? And he knew that he wanted Noah’s mouth on his stomach, his abdomen, his cock. The thought sent a shiver through him, and Noah looked at him curiously, raising one of his fine-haired, fair brows. “But, of course,” Noah said, brushing their noses together, smiling at Helge’s desperate little noise, “it isn’t luck that has brought us together, is it?”  
  
Noah put his fingers beneath the hem of Helge’s sweater, lifting it. He pulled it off over Helge’s head, his face expressionless as he did the same thing with the undershirt. He maintained that sort of cool look, even as his eyes roamed over Helge’s body, seeing it so exposed and vulnerable for the first time. It was his soft stomach that he could not stop staring at. Well-muscled, but of course softer than Noah’s own body, invitingly soft. It rose and fell with his heavy breathing, and Helge could barely stand the anticipation. In a moment they would be pressed together, bare skin, things that he’d only dreamt of. And how often he _had _dreamt of it.  
  
For a long time he had not known whether they were nightmares or dreams. Always they started the same, with him lying in his bed, sleeping peacefully for once, and Noah coming to him. Pulling off the blanket, crawling in with him, and nudging his legs apart. In the strange way of dreams it was almost a prophecy, Noah’s mouth tasting the same, feeling the same, as they had in those strange trancelike visions. They were so vivid, so real, that sometimes Helge would wake up thinking it had really happened. It was always his coming that woke him, his pajama pants wet with it, a physical embodiment of shame.  
  
They put their mouths together, but it was softer this time. Noah let him explore, let him run his tongue along the insides of his lips, touch his teeth, until finally it was their tongues that joined together. Noah’s fingers, clutched around the ultra-sensitive bone of Helge’s hip, had tightened. He bit Noah’s lip, the only thing he could do to prevent himself from groaning in pain, and Noah had moved both hands this time, pinning Helge’s above his head. Making him work for it. They panted between their teeth as Helge ground up against him, starting up that friction once more, letting their bodies speak. It was silent aside from the noises coming from both of them. The muscle in Noah’s jaw was so tense that the skin was blanching white.  
  
“Stop,” Noah gasped, shocking him into motionlessness. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that.” He said it simply, with no quavering, no emotion, not at all like Helge would have spoken. He was afraid to speak now for fear of hearing the shaking of his voice. It struck Helge how Noah could say these things without losing an inch of his power. In a strange way it only increased it, made it more poignant, a greater bridge between them. He knew, as only a good-looking man like him could, that his own desire was like a miracle to Helge. That it would embarrass him, instead of making him feel like he could have Noah, do anything he wanted to him.  
  
“Don’t look so upset,” Noah said, his voice a whisper. There was no one but them, no one around for miles, but they were both afraid that loudness would disrupt the bubble, the moment, that had sprung up to surround them. “Of course I want to. But I want to see you.”  
  
Clearly he expected a response. Clearing his throat, shamed by its trembling, Helge whispered back, “Do you mean…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The question would have been too vulgar, and he had no idea of how to phrase it, how to make it sound not quite so _dirty_.  
  
“Yes. I want to see your cock.” He laughed quietly, showing off his beautiful white teeth. “It’s a part of why I enjoy this so much, Helge,” he said, lowering his head, drifting his mouth across Helge’s abdomen even as he spoke. “Because it shocks you so much.” His tongue darted out, and he licked his way around Helge’s navel, until his mouth had reached the waistband of his trousers. Needing the contact, Helge had wound his fingers through Noah’s hair, scraping his fingernails across the scalp, mesmerized by the sight of Noah’s head so close to the place between his legs.  
  
When he felt Noah’s fingers, working to undo the front of his pants, he looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t think he could stand to look, to wonder, to wonder if Noah would – say something. And if he did, what? Was he afraid that he would be disappointed, that he would not like what he saw? It was not just his scarred fact that Helge loathed, but every part of him, every flawed piece. His face, his body, his mind, his heart. It was his heart that caused him so much pain. A useless little thing. But it squeezed and pounded here, in this moment, with Noah. And he knew that it was not just pleasure he was after, but Noah’s love.  
  
Did Noah love him? Perhaps in a way. But he was convinced that no one could ever love him. If his own mother could not, how could someone else? He was fundamentally wrong. Yet could he not have just this one moment, a second, where he felt it? Where he felt as if someone wanted him, desired him, cared for him?  
  
Noticing his distraction, Noah kissed his stomach, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh just above his pubic bone. Helge could not stop himself from crying out, knotting his fingers more deeply into Noah’s hair, pushing that beautiful face against himself. He had opened up his trousers, and now he pulled down Helge’s underwear. The low, dark sound of appreciation he made – almost a growl – left Helge reeling. He liked it, then, he told himself in a haze.  
  
Noah put his hand on Helge’s erection He squeezed, applying just enough pressure to drive Helge mad, to make him lift his hips. He bit his lip, closing his eyes tightly, as Noah blew his breath across its burning head. “Please,” Helge said, softly, stroking his fingers tenderly across the top of Noah’s head, his ears, his cheeks.  
  
“Please, what?” But Noah was serious now. He ran his tongue along the underside of Helge’s cock, and then its head, wicking away the precome that had collected there. He put his lips around it, sucking very lightly, amusement dancing in his pale eyes as he watched Helge writhe and moan. He stopped, licked him again, letting his teeth skim across the unbelievably sensitive flesh. It was just on the border of pain. “Don’t come yet,” Noah hissed, warningly, his teeth hitting Helge’s cock with more force. He tried to move away, but Noah held him down with one strong arm laid across his abdomen.  
  
“It’s better than you could ever imagine, isn’t it?” Noah rose up onto his knees, kneeling between Helge’s thighs. In every way he was a vision. A painting. Some God, some angel, here before him on earth. But no angel would be doing this, rutting against him, moaning and panting. Yet still he could think nothing else of Noah. He was an idol, the kinds that God himself had pleaded with the world not to worship. How could they not? Look at him, Helge told himself. And he seemed to be aware and pleased that Helge was watching, looking at him like that, like he was some symbol of a higher power.  
  
First, slowly, Noah took Helge’s pants and underwear off completely. His natural inclination was to curl into himself, to hide, but Noah clicked his tongue when he saw Helge trying to shrink away. He watched in silent amazement as Noah took off his shoes, his trousers, and finally, his own undergarments. Oh, God, Helge thought, praying, praying. I can’t take this.  
  
How curious it was, how different their cocks were. Noah was bigger than him, thicker, but he did not feel shy or embarrassed about his own, for Noah’s desire for him seemed to be as strong as ever. The only thought he had was how badly he wanted to touch him. Noah leaned back on his heels, the muscles along his rib cage rippling, a mosaic of his strength.  
  
Helge did touch him. He made a fist around Noah, like he did his own, and it was both the same and entirely different. Hesitantly he ran his thumb over the slit in the head of Noah’s cock, shocked by the expressions he was making, the way he was thrusting himself into the tight grip of his palm. He was pale, his erection vibrantly red, flushed, leaking precome from its tip. So beautiful he took Helge’s breath away. Leaning down, Helge licked him, like Noah had done, unsure of where to take it from there. Noah gently placed his hand on the nape of Helge’s neck, but from the tension in his grip he knew that he instinctively wanted to push him down, to fuck his mouth.  
  
“That’s good,” Noah murmured, his voice strained. The veins in his temples were prominent, standing out against his blushed hairline. Experimentally Helge brushed his mouth across the head, almost rubbing his lips with it, flustered and satisfied by Noah’s deep, lingering groan. “Good boy,” he panted, tilting his head back, exposing all the tendons in his throat. “That’s my good boy.” He stroked Helge’s hair, his neck, encouraging him to take him deeper into his mouth.  
  
Helge sucked, softly, gagging a little when Noah pushed him too hard. He made no apologies, but only brought Helge’s mouth up to his, kissing him harshly. It surprised Helge, that he would still want to kiss him, when he had the taste of Noah’s cock on his lips. Almost lovingly Noah put his hand on the back of Helge’s head, and lay him out on his back, repositioning himself on top, their hipbones pressing painfully together.  
  
He moved again, trying to make things more comfortable, until they once more had their thighs between one another’s legs. When their cocks touched Helge gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth, his back arching. Noah spit into his hand, put it down between them, grasping, putting their erections together, moving his hips with agonizing slowness. It took a moment for Helge to regain his senses, to realize that he, too, should begin to thrust. He couldn’t help but think, even in his dizziness, of how experienced Noah seemed. How steady he was, how he seemed to know just what he was doing, increasing the pace only to slow down when Helge was so, so close.  
  
Noah’s brow was furrowed. Concentrated. They kept moving in tandem, the pitch and rhythm slowly becoming faster, less measured, uneven. A sign that they were both approaching their climaxes. “Fuck,” Noah said, putting his forehead to Helge’s.  
  
“Noah,” Helge panted, his own sweat burning his eyes, “I’m—I think—“  
  
“I want you to,” Noah gritted from between his teeth. “I want you to come for me, Helge.” And he did, moaning, into Noah’s hand. He kept pumping, thrusting, until there were tears leaking from the corners of Helge’s eyes. He was over-sensitized, in pain, but he knew that Noah would not stop until he had had his own orgasm.  
  
A few seconds more passed before he did. It was incredible to watch him as it happened, his parted lips, his shoulders taut. Shyly, Helge turned his face away. “You’re my boy,” Noah whispered, lowering his mouth to Helge’s ear. “Aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes.” Helge closed his eyes, letting Noah kiss his temples, his jaw, his eyebrows. And then the scarred side of his face, with a tenderness that caused a lump to rise up within Helge’s throat. “Yes. I’m your boy.”  
  
Noah got up, and Helge moved to stand, too. But he rose a hand, telling him to stay. He went and got a cloth, dampening it. He cleaned his hands, and then Helge’s cock, gently, watching the flush spread up his chest and neck. “Let’s get you to bed.”  
  
Helge got up. He dressed in his pajamas, his fingers shaking so violently that Noah was forced to do up the buttons of his shirt for him. Tucked beneath his blanket, covering his mouth with it, he watched Noah slip back into his trousers. The tattoo on his back seemed to move and undulate in the shadows.  
  
He came over, sitting on the edge of Helge’s little bed. He smoothed his hair back from his forehead, like Helge was a boy again. And though moments ago he had felt for the first time like a man, he now found himself in that little boy’s skin once more, the boy who had been unable to speak to anyone but Noah. Who craved him. Who wanted him to be there always, to take care of him. His father, mother, brother, lover. His everything.  
  
“I have to go now,” Noah said. There was no tenderness in his voice, but his eyes were soft in the half-light. “Sweet dreams, Helge.” He leaned down, pressing an innocent kiss to the corner of Helge’s mouth. “Dream of me, won’t you?”  
  
“I do,” Helge whispered. He was paralyzed with love as Noah moved his kisses to his forehead, again brushing his stubborn hair out of his eyes. “I do dream of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Einstürzende Neubauten song.


End file.
